


Arduus Ad Solem

by RowWithAChipNPin



Series: Our Broken Lives 'Verse [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: AU, Abuse, Coma, Depression, Developing Relationship, Disability, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Torture, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Language, Living Together, M/M, Nightmares, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Please Don't Hate Me, Recovery, Rehabilitation, Return, Sleeping Together, Timeline What Timeline, Unconventional Families, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowWithAChipNPin/pseuds/RowWithAChipNPin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arduus Ad Solem (Striving Towards The Sun)</p>
<p>After five years gone, Ed shows up beaten, bloody, and half dead in Central. As his body slowly heals, Ed falls deeper into depression. Can Roy save him before Ed does something drastic?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Damnation

**Author's Note:**

> I completely disregard Conqueror of Shamballa, so it doesn't really matter if you've seen it.

_I'm going to die here._ The realization was a cold, slippery tentacle that crawled up his spine and settled in the pit of his stomach. He'd known it for days, somewhere in the back of his mind, but for some reason, it only sank in now. Before, it was only an idea, but now…now it was _real._ He was going to die in this hellhole. He would never see the light of day again, never breathe fresh air or eat real food, or drink untainted water. The cell they'd tossed him in was cold and black as the coffee he drank— _used to_ drink—to get through a long night of studying, and the stone floor was frigid against his bare skin. Blood was spattered across the floor; it was dried by now, he was sure, but he couldn't see or concentrate well enough to tell.

He wasn't even sure how long he'd been here. Was it mere days, or had it been weeks, months, since he'd arrived? At first, it had been brutal, beatings that kept him unconscious for long periods of time. Then, they'd "expanded" their horizons, using new ways to torture or bring him searing, debilitating agony each time. Honestly, the human ability to be senselessly cruel amazed him, even after everything he'd seen.

He winced as he cradled the empty, damaged socket where his automail had once been. His arm had been brutally torn from its place, and it still throbbed, though not as harshly as it had at first. He silently thanked his lucky stars that they hadn't done the same to his leg; it was damaged beyond repair, a mangled mess of metal shards and tangled wires, but the socket hadn't been messed with. A feeling of self-loathing swelled up in him, as if his automail was the reason he'd been taken, before he squashed it. There was a war going on—the Second World War, he'd seen the newspapers call it—and given half a chance, anyone was liable to be taken away and locked up.

That was what had happened to him, and he prayed that Alfons had been spared, that he hadn't been subjected to the same horrors as him. Ed could handle anything these soldiers threw at him, and he could take any punishment they dealt out, but Alfons wasn't him; he wouldn't survive, not as sick as he was, and he was no fighter. At the thought of his fellow scientist, homesickness swept over him. He'd been _so_ close he could almost smell the telltale scent of transmutation; he was positive that he'd found a way home, back to _his_ Al, back to Winry and Pinako and Resembool…back to Mustang.

His mind was fuzzy, a haze of pain and drugs settled over his brain and slowing his thought process to a sluggish crawl. The cell they'd thrown him in was black as pitch; he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, and he'd been in the dark so long he couldn't tell when his eyes were open or closed. His whole body ached and throbbed, never-ceasing waves of pain pulsing through him. He was battered inside and out, and each shift of his body hurt in new places; his tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth, and he could taste blood—the metallic copper tang familiar—coating his tongue and teeth.

Moving his hand gingerly from the empty socket, he ran his fingers through short, grimy hair; the soldiers that had abducted him had hacked off his long ponytail, and he wondered at the feeling of weightlessness and the lack of hair against his neck. His hand came away wet, and when he brought it to his nose and inhaled, the metallic scent confirmed his suspicions that it was blood.

_Blood…_ That gave him an idea. A crazy, absurd, risky, possibly fatal and certainly insane idea, but if it weren't, it would probably never work. It also brought something else to his attention—he hadn't been paying attention to how much blood he'd lost, was still losing, and dizziness swept through him. His stomach twisted, as if it was trying to digest itself, and he fought to keep down the meager meal of stale bread, a slice of filmy meat, and lukewarm water he'd had earlier. He couldn't afford to deprive his already weak and deteriorating body the few nutrients it provided.

He'd lost track of how long he'd been at the camp—it could have been weeks or months, or maybe mere days, and he wouldn't know the difference. Ever so often, a German soldier would come for him, and each time, he would shudder at what was coming. They would blindfold him and take him to a lad straight out of a horror book, complete with serious lack of hygiene, bloodstained operating equipment, and a sadistic mad (mad crazy, not mad angry, though he did seem to have anger issues when Ed was involved) scientist with a razor-sharp scalpel.

He shifted, wincing at the pain that shot through his body. He heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and he decided that if he was going to try this crazy idea, he would have to do it quickly. He didn't know if his body could take much more abuse. He couldn't forget that he wasn't alone, and if he wasn't gone before they arrived at his cell, he had the feeling that he wouldn't live long enough to try it again. They were getting tired of using him as their punching bag and stress reliever, and he knew his time was almost up. He had to use this brief window before it closed, and the deadline was approaching much quicker than he'd have liked.

He lifted a hand to his head again, and dragged his human fingers across the concrete floor. The footsteps were almost on top of him, and as he pressed his hand palm down against the array, he heard the click of the lock and the creak of the door opening. Light was thrown across the filthy floor, and he closed his eyes as pain exploded behind his eyes. He dug deep within himself, gathering up every last shred of energy and wrapping it up into a tight little ball. He felt the soldier entering the cell, and he let the energy go in one last desperate attempt to save himself. It exploded through his body, running down his arm and out through his palm.

And just as the hands were reaching for him, and just as Edward lost consciousness, the lines started to glow.

**XXXXXX**

_Beep-beep-beep-beep._ The string of blips on the screen was taunting him, and if the circumstances had been different, General Roy Mustang might have incinerated the damned thing. But instead, he simply gave silent thanks that the beeping had finally evened out.

It had been a week since the prone, broken, and bleeding body had appeared on the floor of his new office. The smell of transmutation had filled the air and the lines of a strange alchemic array started glowing just before a flash of light that temporarily blinded him. When the spots cleared and the light faded, Roy had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, because what was before him was a scene straight from his darkest nightmares.

_Crumpled on the floor at the center of the circle was a very naked young man, lying in a pool of blood. Roy couldn't see his face—it was concealed by choppy hair—but he didn't need to in order to identify him; the destroyed automail port where his right arm should have been and the crushed remainder of his left leg did the identifying. Ignoring any concern for his uniform, Roy knelt down next to the infamous alchemist. After five years missing, Edward looked like he'd been beaten within an inch of his life. If not for the violent shaking of his emaciated and under-clothed body, the Flame Alchemist might have mistaken him for dead. He was almost unrecognizable, but Roy had seen Ed bloody and bruised more times that he would have liked. He'd seen broken bones and concussions, cuts and scrapes and bruises. But this…this was an entirely new ballgame._

_Roy gingerly brushed Ed's hair—he distantly noted that someone had hacked off his ponytail hastily and done a crappy job of it—back from his face for absolute confirmation, and his heart sank. His eyes were half-open, glazed over and staring at nothing. Precious lifeblood from a head wound had coated the side of his face, and matted his hair. Blood seeped from the crushed arm port; the metal was pulling away and crusted over where it attached to his chest. The younger alchemist's body was mottled with bruises of varying size and age, and littered with cuts and wounds. There was a nasty gash in his left side that had been amateurishly stitched in a half-assed attempt to close it and looked like it had gone septic, swollen shiny red and oozing a thick, yellowish-green puss. Roy's body filled with anger and his vision went red. How could someone do this to a boy just out of his teens? He still had a soft spot at the back of his head, for God's sake!_

_Shoving his fury to the back burner and locking it in a box until later, Roy shrugged off his jacket and gathered the injured man up in his arms, calling for Riza to get the car as he started sprinting through the halls._

Six days later, and Edward still hadn't woken up. Roy had barely left his side, and when he had, either Riza or one of the others from the old crew stayed in the room as a guard. Maybe against his better judgment, Mustang hadn't called Resembool yet. He knew that sooner or later, he would have to tell the Rockbells and Alphonse that Ed had returned, but something was stopping him. He wasn't sure if it was nerves, worry that Ed wouldn't make it, or just a healthy fear of the Rockbell women, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to dial the number.

He brushed a chunk of hair back off of Edward's forehead, careful of the stitches. "What happened to you, Fullmetal? Where've you been for the past five years?" he whispered.

Roy Mustang had done some regrettable things in his life—taking part in the Ishbalan War as a human weapon, murdering the Rockbell girl's parents—but the thing he regretted most of all was letting this damned blond breach his defenses. Roy had spent his whole life keeping people at arms' length or farther, not even letting his aunt or Riza get too close. He built his walls up and made them impenetrable, and he kept people away with arrogance, cynicism, and obnoxious superiority.

And yet, all of that preparation did nothing to deter that hotheaded blond alchemist with the unstoppable, single-minded determination to give his brother back his life and the unnerving ability to get under Roy's skin. He plowed through all Mustang's carefully prepared defenses like they were tissue paper, him with his familiar scarlet coat and the molten gold eyes, and offensively loud voice and the attitude twice his size.

When he and Riza had gone to Resembool on that fake tip, the first time he'd met the Elric brothers, he'd taken one look at little Edward sitting in the wheelchair, bandaged up and looking like shit, and he would have never guessed that Edward would become one of the greatest alchemists he would ever meet. He would have never guessed that he would come to care about those boys like they were family, or that he would beat himself up every day for five years thinking Fullmetal was dead because Edward had disappeared without a trace. He'd watched them grow into incredible, strong young men; he'd watched them face down death, watched them chase impossible dreams and accomplish impossible things.

Then Edward looked up at him with those damn eyes of his, and Roy knew that someday, that kid would break his heart. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.


	2. Musings and Avoiding Paperwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the diagnosis isn't good, Edward has nightmares, and Roy avoids paperwork by waiting at Ed's bedside.

The diagnosis was not good, nor was the prediction that Edward could never wake up. Even though Ed was technically no longer a State Alchemist, no one had forgotten the good he'd done or his reputation, not even after five years. It had taken best doctors in the country eight hours in surgery to keep him alive for this long, eight hours Roy had spent in the hall outside the operating room, pacing and snapping at the prissy, uptight nurse that _no,_ he did _not_ think he would be more comfortable in the waiting room, and _no,_ he didn't give a flying fuck about "the rules."

According to the doctors, Edward Elric had been through hell and back, and kept captive for weeks judging from the ages of his wounds. He'd taken damage to his human wrist and ankle from being bound, including a fractured wrist, and physical trauma to his shoulder, knee, and foot from being dragged. Two of his human fingers had been snapped—the middle and ring fingers—and healed badly. He had several cracked ribs—those that weren't fractured were seriously bruised—and he had a concussion that had come from his head being repeatedly slammed into something. He was severely malnourished and dehydrated, and he'd been kept in darkness for certainly a few weeks.

In other words, he was very, very lucky to be alive.

All of this made Roy Mustang want to incinerate the brutes who'd done this alive, made his blood boil, made him see red and stoked his bloodlust to a wildfire. Physically, Edward's injuries would eventually heal, though the port for his arm would have to be removed and allowed to heal before Ed could ever hope to have functioning automail again. In the meantime, he would be provided with a prosthetic leg to replace the destroyed one, though it wouldn't take the abuse his automail could handle. Roy shuddered at the thought of anyone having to deal with an invalid Edward; he hoped Fullmetal would heal too quickly to start terrorizing anyone.

The emotional damage was another thing all together. Roy had been a soldier on the front lines of war; he'd known people who'd been tortured like this, almost to the point of death, and he'd seen the aftereffects. Going through that could seriously screw up a person, sometimes permanently. It would be a long, difficult recovery and Roy didn't think for a second that Edward would ever be the same.

**XXXXXX**

Roy didn't know he'd fallen asleep until he was whacked rather soundly in the head by Ed's human arm. He jerked into awareness, snapping up in his seat; he realized he'd fallen asleep with his head on the corner of Ed's mattress. A glance at the clock informed him that only an hour or two had passed. The injured alchemist struggled in his sleep, his damaged body thrashing the best it could.

Roy shook his shoulder gently; Ed whined in his sleep and flinched. "Ed." He put a little more force into it. "Ed, wake up."

Ed jerked in his sleep. "Please," he moaned, "please, stop." It was the first sound he'd made that hadn't been incoherent mumbling. His voice was dry and crackling like dead leaves.

Roy froze as a frightened whimper escaped Ed's lips, like a wounded animal. He'd never have even imagined that the proud, brazen Edward could make such a noise.

"Don't—don't hurt me." His voice cracked pathetically. "Sorry, so sorry."

Roy caught Ed's flailing wrist gently, squeezing the other alchemist's hand lightly so as to not put pressure on the broken fingers. Ed was quiet after that, going still beneath the blankets. Roy breathed a sigh of relief and set Ed's hand down gently after a second squeeze. He smoothed back the dirty hair, ignoring the filth, blood, and other unsavory things—he made a mental note to make Ed take a bath as soon as he was strong enough to stay awake.

He frowned at the pain written on Ed's face and contorting his body, even in fitful sleep. He wished he could go back in time and stop Ed from disappearing to wherever he went; anything to prevent this. Edward didn't deserve this, no matter how obnoxious he could be. Roy stroked his hair again, wishing and wondering and wanting.

Ed groaned and shifted, his eyes fluttering open weakly. In what might have passed for consciousness, he mumbled, "Please stop. Don't touch me."

Roy's stroking stilled. Ed shook like the last leaf hanging on a dead tree in a winter storm under his hand. Roy waited for Ed to say something else.

"What did I do? Just want to…" his voice broke off, and tears leaked out of his eyes, slipping down his cheeks and clearing a path through blood and grime. The scab on his lip cracked and fresh crimson blood welled up from the cut, dripping down his chin.

Roy wiped away the tears and blood with his thumb. "Shh, Ed. It's okay, you're home," he said softly, trying not to frighten the boy more.

Ed's eyes flicked to land on Roy's face, and widened with what could have been recognition or fear. "Home?" he asked, sounding so hopeful that it nearly broke Mustang's heart.

Roy nodded. "Yeah, kid. Home. You're back in Central City. You're home."

Ed tried to nod, but winced and decided against it; the movement sent a chunk of hair flopping down over one of his eyes. "Where's Al?" he asked, his voice dropping to a broken whisper. Roy brushed the hair back away from his face. "He's in Resembool, Ed, with the Rockbells. I haven't called him yet."

Ed wet his lips and swallowed, but his voice still cracked when he said, "Good. Don't. Not yet."

Ed started to say something else, but whatever it was dissolved into a pained moan as his eyes rolled back in his head and he slipped back into unconsciousness. Roy stroked his head again and nodded, even though he knew Ed couldn't see it, and said, even though he knew Ed couldn't hear it, "Whatever you say, Fullmetal."

**XXXXXX**

The next time Ed woke up was an hour later. Roy had started reading a book after Ed passed out, and so far the only activity had been two more nightmares and a flirting nurse. When nature called, he yawned and stood, stretching his arms above his head. He set his book on the sidetable and brushed back Ed's hair. "Be back in a minute," he said to no one, his voice bouncing off the sterilized walls.

He only went to the bathroom down the hall, and when he returned, someone had left a tray of food next to his book, if you could call hospital fare "food". The small room, brightly lit by fluorescent overheads, was quiet bar for the steady beeping of a monitor attached to Ed.

The Fullmetal Alchemist looked more machine than human, his human arm strung with IV tubes feeding his deprived body nutrients and what Roy assumed to be pain medication; the brace on his fractured wrist kept him from making it worse in his sleep. Clear tubes ran from his nose to a machine, keeping him breathing. The gash in his side had been cleaned and closed by fifteen stitches, and his chest was wrapped tight with bandages. Ed's normally golden, sunkissed skin was pale and ashen, tarnished with dried blood and filth. Roy had to admit that Edward looked so helpless lying in the hospital bed, so much younger than he was.

His eyes were closed, but golden eyes cracked open to gaze at him wearily when he took his seat. Roy's lips spread in what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Hey, brat," he said, not knowing what else to say. He didn't know if this was another nightmare or if Ed had finally woken up.

Ed's lips moved in silent words. He made no sound, but Roy knew what the other alchemist had said. _Hey, Colonel Bastard._ Roy smirked. "Didn't you hear? I got a promotion. I'm the Fuhrer now."

Ed's brief period of lucidity faded as the fuzziness cleared from his head, replacing the drowsy ease with pain. He tried to say something, but nothing came out except a choked grunt. The corners of his eyes wrinkled with pain and he pressed his lips together to hold back another groan. Roy retrieved the cup of lukewarm water from the tray and slid a hand under Ed's head, frowning at the hiss of pain that bubbled from the younger man's lips.

Ed was too thirsty to care and drank greedily as Roy held the cup to his lips, shutting his eyes as the water eased the pain in his parched throat. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start, and he was already feeling too sick to risk drinking more. "Thanks," he whispered, allowing his head to sink back against the pillow.

Roy nodded and watched Ed for a while, silent with concern. It occurred to him that he'd been utterly terrified as events had unfolded this past week, and it wasn't the sort of terror where he thought he'd lost his best soldier. It struck deeper, harder, like if he lost Ed, he'd be entirely alone, and while it was an agonizing feeling, the implications weren't unwelcome to him. Roy grasped Ed's hand in his own, working his thumb in circles over Ed's knuckles, and the younger man sighed softly, relaxing into the mattress. He didn't offer any explanation and Roy didn't ask, content that he could offer some manner of comfort.

Sometime later, after he'd assumed Ed had fallen asleep, Ed cleared his throat. Roy jumped, startled; he'd almost gotten used to the comfortable quiet. It wasn't like before, when every moment was heavy with tension and fear that Ed might not make it; it wasn't uncomfortable, as if they didn't know what to say. It was warm and reassuring, like a cozy old blanket, and Roy had nearly been lulled into sleep himself.

He shook his head, clearing the fogginess, and turned his attention to the blond. "Yeah?"

"How long have I been back?" Ed asked, struggling to sit up. His human arm shook under the strain and gave out, sending him flopping back against the pillow. Roy helped him into a sitting position before retaking his seat. "A little over a week. You just showed up in my office, looking like hell and bleeding out. We managed to get you here in time to save you." _Barely,_ he added silently.

With much effort and a pained grunt, Ed gave himself a visual once over and grimaced. "I look like crap," he concluded.

"Like something that dug its way out of a grave," Roy agreed, smirking.

Ed ran a hand through his hair and scowled. "I should get cleaned up. I feel like I took a bath in a landfill." Before he'd even finished, he was trying to force his way out of the bed, a task made difficult by a number of conditions: his having only half his limbs, his body being at only a fraction of its normal strength, and his being hooked up to about half a dozen machines. Roy rose to stop him, but Ed realized his own predicament and stilled.

"Want me to call a hot nurse?" Roy joked, trying to lighten the mood, but the jest fell flat and he knew it. Ed rolled his eyes, but blanched as the blood drained from his face, and it occurred to Roy that being around strangers would probably just make it worse for Ed.

With that in mind, he put a hand on Ed's good shoulder and gave him a gentle push back. "Stop that. Lie down before you pull out your IVs. I'll be right back," he said softly, and he didn't wait for an answer as he strode to the tiny bathroom in the corner of the room. He filled a bucket with warm water and grabbed a handful of clean washcloths off the top of the stack. Ed's eyebrow rose when he saw Mustang striding towards him carrying them.

Roy soaked the first washcloth in the water and, cupping Ed's face in one palm, started to tenderly wipe the blood and grime from Edward's face as gently as he could. Ed hissed at contact, gritting his teeth as the water got into the scrapes, but soon enough, he relaxed into Roy's touch, closing his eyes as the Flame Alchemist cleaned the mess from his skin. Roy tried to avoid hurting Ed, but with so many cuts and wounds, it wasn't easy. His heart twisted as, with every wipe, more abuse and more pain was revealed.

Ed had been malnourished and dehydrated when he'd shown up in Roy's office, and it showed in the gauntness of Ed's face. As he worked lower down Ed's body, Roy tried to soothe the younger alchemist, keep him occupied and distracted with stories of the last five years. As he cleaned as much as he could without hurting Ed too badly, he told Ed about Winry and how she'd moved shop to Central three years ago, about Riza Haweye's promotion, and about Rosè and her little boy. Most of all, he told Ed about Al and how much had changed. He told Ed about Al's memory loss, his journeys, his relationship with Winry, and how Al wanted to be a State Alchemist like Ed. When the older Elric heard this, his eyes widened and he blurted, "What? No! You can't be seri—"

Roy held up a hand to stop him. "Don't worry, Ed. I didn't approve him, and I turn down every application he makes. He's a talented alchemist, almost as skilled as you, but he doesn't have the heart to be a dog of the military, and I won't do that to him."

Finally, when he'd done all he could under the circumstances, he put the washcloths and bucket aside, and he pulled a comb from his pocket—yes he carried a comb with him, because he always had to look his best. He fingered a piece of Ed's hair and pulled the comb gently through it, dislodging the dried clumps of blood and filth. With painstaking effort and patience rather unlike him, he worked his way carefully through the knots and tangles and snags.

When he'd finished, gone was the matted mop that Roy had first seen, and the soft, golden strands left behind offered some semblance of a past that had slipped through their fingers like sand. Ed would still need a shower, but he looked so much like his old self, lying there with his eyes closed, breathing softly through barely parted lips, his face still cupped by Roy's gloved hand. Roy brushed his thumb across Ed's cheekbone, stroking the ashen skin affectionately. Ed murmured his approval in his sleep and leaned into the touch, the caged expression that had been on his face since his unexpected arrival melting away into what could have been contentment, once upon a time.

Roy sighed sadly and ruffled Ed's hair; he ignored the snide little voice in his head that asked him why he had such a fascination with the young man's hair.

"What happened to you, Edward?" he wondered aloud, hoping that whatever lay in the past, Ed would be able to move forward, if only to see him smile again.


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ed stays with Roy and progress is made.

Ed was released from the hospital a week later, after his automail port had been removed from his shoulder. After a good full night of honest to God rest (because being unconscious or in a coma did not count towards sleep), it had become easier for Ed to stay awake for longer than a few minutes, and as soon as he was ready, he'd been given a temporary leg and had an almost steady stream of visitors.

From Izumi Curtis, ready to kick Ed's ass when he was back at his best, and Sig, to 2nd Lieutenant Maria Ross and Sergeant Denny Brosh, and the rest of the old gang, glad to see the Fullmetal Alchemist back where he belonged; Sheska dropped in with a stack of books to stave off boredom in the coming weeks of recovery; Gracia came by with Elicia. Roy watched for a while, lurking in the corner of the room, and he noticed that while Ed smiled occasionally, it didn't reach his eyes or last for more than a few moments.

What Roy wanted was to see him smile like he used to; he wanted to see that spark again.

Roy left the hospital with the promise he would be back, and returned to his office to face the intimidating pile of paperwork that had been building on his desk. He'd have rather stayed with Ed—the voice was back, reminding him that the last time he'd let the older Elric out of his sight, Ed had vanished for five years and almost gotten himself killed—but Riza was watching him like her namesake, polishing her guns as she stood guard, and he doubted he would be able to escape facing his job any longer.

It took him the entire day to finish the mountain, which he dubbed 'the Unholy Mountain of Unending Paperwork'; by the time he had signed the last line and initialed the last space, he had a serious hand cramp and never wanted to see the word "audit" again. However, the day hadn't been a total loss; somewhere between the first half and the second, Roy had an epiphany. Five years ago, it never would have occurred to him, and five years ago, Fullmetal never would have agreed to it, but that was then. Given recent events, perhaps it wasn't as far-fetched as it sounded.

**XXXXXX**

The car pulled up outside the two-story townhouse and two people stepped out. Roy shielded his eyes against the sun as he exited the shade of the automobile, and turned to offer help to Ed, who scowled and ignored the offered arm. Roy shrugged and pushed open the gate as the car left, and started up the steps, Ed trailing behind him.

Since Edward was still adamant about Al and Winry being kept in the dark, Roy had offered him a place to stay.

_"Why would I stay with you?" Ed asked, his eyebrows drawn together. He was standing at the window, dressed in hand-me-down clothes Sergeant Brosh had given him, looking out at Central. Roy leaned against the wall next to the closed door, wondering if this was a good idea._

_Roy shrugged. "My house is big enough for the both of us, there are bedrooms downstairs that might be easier for you, I have a decent-sized library that I rarely use, and honestly, I want to keep an eye on you until I know for sure that you're not going to drop dead or disappear," he explained, not able to voice aloud the_ real _reason he wanted Ed to stay with him._

_Ed turned to face him, expression unreadable. He was silent for several moments, just staring at his ex-boss. Finally, he asked suspiciously, "This isn't because you feel guilty or some shit, is it?"_

_Roy shook his head, pushing off the wall and walking up to Ed. He looked down at the younger alchemist, and watching Ed's reaction intently, lifted a hand to brush a chunk of golden hair back behind his ear. He let his fingers linger on Ed's skin, holding back a smile. He didn't want to scare Ed off, and he wanted to protect him now that he was back. He couldn't before, and now that he could, he would do everything in his power to bring back the smile he remembered._

Roy honestly wasn't sure why he'd offered; no, that wasn't quite right, he knew exactly why, he just didn't want to admit it. It wasn't out of guilt—alright, maybe a little—and it wasn't because he enjoyed listen to Ed bitch. The truth was that he had become rather fond of the younger man, and not only as a military officer and his mutinous subordinate. His reputation as a heartbreaking playboy was not entirely deserved—most of his "dates" were appointments with informants and contacts. Admittedly, he'd done his fair share of sleeping around, but not nearly to the magnitude people believed; generally, he went home alone, without a beautiful woman on his arm or to warm his bed.

Perhaps because it wasn't a beautiful _woman_ he wanted on his arm, and it wasn't a woman he wanted to bed.

More than all that…Roy Mustang was lonely. This was as much for his benefit as Ed's.

**XXXXXX**

Thankfully, Ed learned quickly how to do things with one hand, which was a huge relief for Roy because A) listening to Ed bitch wasn't his idea of a good time, and B) he knew Ed's pride couldn't take much more assistance. After Roy let him loose in the library, he would disappear for hours into the pages of dusty, leather-bound books that hadn't been touched in years. He would come out occasionally for food or to use the bathroom, but other than that, what with Ed's reclusive attitude and Roy's busy schedule, Roy rarely saw his houseguest.

When they did intersect, it quickly became apparent to Roy just how much Ed had changed. He'd mellowed, turned inwards, and something about him had just…dimmed. He didn't have that excited, jubilant glow that had always surrounded the old Edward. Whatever hell he'd gone through, it had robbed him of that, and it simply broke Roy's heart to see the emptiness where that spark had once been.

Slowly, but surely, Ed was recovering—physically, at least. The cuts and bruises were fading; his ribs were nearly completely mended. His right shoulder was almost healed enough for the doctors to start considering automail again, and his human wrist was well enough for him to start writing again. He was regaining his appetite as his body became re-accustomed to food, though it would be a while before he was eating like a garbage disposal again.

Mentally, he wasn't doing as well as Roy would have liked. Nightmares came almost every time Ed went to sleep, and they had developed a sort of routine; it was the only interaction they had that didn't make Ed flinch and close off. Roy would check on Ed before he went down the hall to bed himself; more often than not, the blond would be caught in the throes of a nightmare, tossing and turning, tears running down his face, pain and terror etched on his face, his body doubled over and his hand knotted in the bedding.

Roy would pull up a chair and take Ed's hand in his, and he would wake Ed as gently as he could. Ed would scoot over and pull weakly—but getting stronger every day—at Roy's hand, and Roy would slip into the bed next to him, and he would hold the younger man while he cried himself back to sleep, stroking his hair and not saying a word. At first, after Ed had fallen asleep again, Roy would carefully and slowly disentangle himself and go to his own bed for the night. But, as the days turned into weeks, Roy started letting himself fall asleep there, with Ed's head resting comfortably on his chest and his body cradled in his arms.

When Roy awoke first in the morning, he would disentangle himself from the blond and leave; he went to take a shower and get dressed for the day, and when Ed came out for breakfast, neither mentioned it—it was almost as if it had never happened. On the rare occasions that Ed was the first to wake up, he would savor these moments, when he didn't feel like he was going to drown in the darkness that filled his mind and heart, and he would listen to Roy's heart beat in tandem with him, knowing more with each thump that this was real, not a cruel dream that would be yanked away from him at a moment's notice.

Neither of them ever wondered; Ed didn't wonder why the only time he didn't have nightmares was when he was safe in Roy's arms, and Roy didn't wonder why the only time he felt whole again was when he was holding the younger man.


	4. On The Road To Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is little progress, memories reveal lives, and beds are shared.

Ed was grateful for Mustang's offer, he was. The space gave Ed breathing room he hadn't even realized he needed. Honestly, he hadn't known what he would have done after he was released; he hadn't given it much thought, until Mustang had offered to put up with him. At first, Ed had been sure that Mustang had an ulterior motive for offering to house him, and after a few weeks, he still wasn't sure his reasons were as simple as he claimed.

At first, he'd fluctuated from extreme insomnia to extreme fatigue, and there had been days when he hadn't even bothered to get out of bed; for some reason beyond him, Roy had never mentioned it. Normal stuff seemed almost impossible, and everything hurt: eating, breathing, being around and talking to people, living in general. Half the time he wasn't even aware of what went on around him; he was simply going through the motions without doing them. There were days when he still felt numb and detached, like he was trapped in a dream and couldn't wake up; there were days when his head felt full of cotton, and even concentrating on little things seemed impossible. A little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Al whispered that he should be worried he wasn't getting any better.

Every time he closed his eyes, the images came back, flashing past before his eyes like a demented moving picture show. In sleep, there was truly no escape, and he'd stopped sleeping altogether—anything to escape his private hell. He felt like he'd tried so hard and gotten so far, to only fall farther than he ever had before. He felt weak and vulnerable, and he hated it.

It wasn't all bad. There were times when he could move past the fog and see something bright. The library, for instance, was one of the few things that didn't make him consider offing himself.

When he'd first laid eyes on Roy's library, the Flame Alchemist's amused laugh and shake of his head had told him that he'd been grinning like a fool. The library took up two rooms, with the walls all lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all of them packed with books of varying sizes and types—there were old, dusty, leather-bound alchemic journals, reference books, travel guides of far-off places, and more. It was awe worthy and incredible, and Ed fell in love with it at first sight. He thought he might never leave.

Along with the books, there were knick-knacks and keepsakes littering the free spaces in the shelves. One in particular interested Ed. It was one of the framed photographs, and Ed had almost dropped it from shock. He couldn't imagine why Roy would keep a picture of him in his personal library. He'd stared at it for a while before replacing it, smiling ruefully. It reminded him of a time when he'd thought he could beat the Flame Alchemist in a fight; the photo behind the glass was a little faded with time, only furthering to remind him how long it had been. Had he really been that self-assured, once upon a time? If he had, he couldn't remember it. Those eyes, so bright with confidence and recklessness, stared up at him from the picture. They had seen so much, but in the years since, he'd seen more, things he wished above else he could unsee. He vaguely wondered, somewhere in the back of his mind, what the result would be if they fought now.

Besides, the desk gave him an excellent view out of the window into the backyard, and it presented a perfect place to read; also, the leather chair was incredibly comfy, and more than once Ed had caught himself drifting off in it.

Neither of them broached the subject of Ed's ordeal, both because Roy didn't want to hurt the younger man and because Ed wasn't ready to talk about it. In fact, Ed didn't think he _could_ without breaking down. So many emotions were tied in with the camp and what happened: burning fury, steaming hatred, heart-stopping terror, and much more.

He was furious because he'd been abducted out of his own apartment when he'd done nothing wrong, he hated the Nazi soldiers for destroying the life he'd built for himself; he'd been terrified of never seeing Al again, of Alfons Heiderich dying alone without someone to hold his hand, of never finding out how far Mustang had gone, of never finding his way back to Amestris.

He stood under the rain, letting it fall down on him in a tuneless symphony. When he'd been trapped in a partially-voluntary exile for five years, he'd missed the lazy countryside of Resembool, the seemingly endless metropolis of Central; hell, he'd even missed the dreary East City. Now that he was back, he found he was missing the rolling green hills and crowded city of Munich he'd come to know.

It had been a fragile peace he'd found in a country recovering from a devastating and humiliating war, and in the middle of a socialist revolution. It had been a hard time, inflation had been unbelievable and the people had been largely unwelcoming at first. He'd been lucky that Heiderich had accepted him and vouched for him, or things might have gone very differently.

It had been strange living with someone who looked exactly like his brother—or what Ed imagined Al would look if he hadn't spent his life trapped in armor—but, gradually, Ed had gotten past it. Both of them were kind-hearted and friendly, and neither of them had judged Ed over his prosthetics; in fact, since he was a gifted mechanic and scientist, Alfons had helped him many times over the five years with repairs and maintenance. But they were very, very different.

Just like his little brother, Alfons was a scientist—logical, rational, and intelligent. Unlike Al, he was a complete imperialist, rationalizing and explaining everything with science; he didn't believe in a problem science couldn't solve. He was a chemist, fascinated in the possibility of using hydrogen and nitrogen for rocket fuel. He was an engineer, a plotter and planner of the most effective and aerodynamically sound designs; he put together machines intended to carry man off into the stars someday. The stars were his goal, the heights he reached for, and his rockets were the means he would use to get there.

Ed had missed his brother every day, every night. The pain had been there, a heavy, dull ache in his heart. But he'd been learning to breathe again. He'd been laughing, smiling a bit easier every day, ever since Alfons had entered his life. A man who looked so much like his brother, who smiled like the ghost of another world that was lost to him now, but he was so different, his own person. He had been a new sun that had risen on a new day in Ed's life.

They'd been able to ignore the fact that Alfons' time was so short, sand quickly slipping through the hourglass of his life. They'd ignored that Ed's old wounds and scars were still there, haunting reminders that he was convinced he could find a way back to a world beyond the Gate.

Alfons had made him smile, with his soft-spoken demeanor and his calm acceptance of Ed's every fault and quirk. He didn't— _hadn't_ —asked questions, and they'd been able to move on together. They'd made a new life for themselves, and somehow, they fit. Ed had found peace with Alfons, had almost been able to forget about his other life, and he'd been content with what he'd had: an apartment with his partner, a job he loved, a shaky relationship with Van Hohenhiem. He'd promised himself he would never forget, but he'd known he'd had to move on.

Alfons had helped him move on, grow up into the man his old life had kept him from being. He'd taught Ed how to cook in their apartment, how to hold his own in a drinking contest at the bar around the corner, how to enjoy the touch of another person as they'd made love in the backseat of their beat-up, run down old truck under a full moon and a half-dead tree. Ed had loved Alfons, yes, but he hadn't been _in_ love with him…not yet. He knew that if they'd had more time, then he could have fallen head over heels for the scientist, but even though his heart hurt and he knew he would never really get over Alfons, he also knew that now he had the chance to pursue something real with the man he'd been _in_ love with for years.

Ed lifted his head to the sky, letting the raindrops conceal his tears. He didn't regret using the array to escape the camp, and he didn't regret falling back into Amestris, but he wished that he could have brought Alfons with him; maybe the doctors on this side could have helped him, given him a chance at a full life. He'd dreamed of introducing the two Als, of showing Alfons the wonders of his home world, of proving he wasn't a nut job desperately holding onto a childhood fantasy. For everything he'd gained by returning to Amestris, he'd lost something incredible. He'd lost the chance to lie in bed late into the morning with his nose buried in platinum hair, lost his chance to watch his lovers dreams become realities.

He would never get the chance to tell Alfons what happened, and his lover would spend however long he had left wondering if Ed had died in that camp or abandoned him.

**XXXXXX**

Roy stood at the window, watching Ed standing out under the rain. Some part of him scolded him for letting Ed risk catching a cold like that, and another wished that he could offer some kind of comfort. He knew the younger man was in pain, and there was nothing he could do except wait for Ed to come to him on his own.

Roy was worried for the Fullmetal Alchemist, he truly was, and though he had so many reasons to be, one stood out from the rest—Ed didn't refuse his help. Even after torture, the old Ed would have objected loudly and foully to any sign of aid; his pride wouldn't have let him. This Ed didn't even seem to care; it was as if part of him had been extinguished, the part of him that made him the famous alchemist he'd been.

The general sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. This wasn't healthy, the dependence they'd developed. Last night had been one of those when Ed's sleep had been devoid of nightmares, and so Roy had gone to his own room down the hall—the living space in his house was comprised of the lower level, and the second floor made up his library and space for alchemy. Roy had laid in his bed and stared up at the ceiling of the room, and he had tried to go to sleep. It had been a long, lonely night, and it had been more difficult than he'd anticipated falling asleep without the comforting, surprisingly familiar warmth of another body against his.

He'd idly missed the heavy weight of a body half-on/half-off his chest, and he'd missed the wash of warm breath against his throat; he missed the feeling of having someone sleeping with him—in a strictly ascetic way—without the looming menace of the infamous awkwardness of "the morning after," without the whispered promises that he never intended to keep and rang empty even to his ears, without the faux "I'll call you"s and the "we'll have lunch"s.

The darkness of night was far less friendly without Ed to share it with him, and he'd laid there for what could have been hours or simply agonizingly slow minutes before he'd slipped into the lonely oblivion of sleep.

It couldn't be healthy, for either of them. He knew that Ed couldn't heal properly by leaning so fully on him for support and comfort, and five years ago he would have been concerned about his subordinate—who also happened to be his ward—being so dependent on him.

 _But,_ the voice whispered, _this isn't five years ago. Edward is twenty-one now, a legal adult who can make his own decisions, and he hasn't been your subordinate since he quit right before he left. He resigned his post as a State Alchemist; he's fair game now._

Try as he might, Roy couldn't quite ignore what the voice was insinuating—perhaps because it had a fair point. Even after being abused, starved, beaten, and nearly killed, Edward Elric was beautiful in a way a young man had no business in being. He'd become a truly heart-stopping young man; he had, after all, been a fairly attractive teenager. Earlier that week, before the storm had descended on the city, Roy had gone upstairs to ask Ed if he wanted something specific from the store. He'd found the younger man sitting in his favorite leather chair, totally engrossed in a book about the history of Xerxes, and his heart had just about stopped.

Sitting there, with the sun streaming in through the window, he'd looked so, so radiant that Roy didn't even see the cuts and bruises and bandages. The soft sun-kissed hair had been trimmed to short, spiky layers that framed his face and brought out his eyes, and even though Roy missed the trademark ponytail and/or braid, he had to admit that short hair suited Ed very well. It was as if he'd stepped from a painting of something beyond comprehension. His eyes, those enchanting, mesmerizing eyes the color of tequila and honey, were focused intently on the pages and the flourished, flowing script with a singular focus that would have scared Roy if he didn't know Ed. The sunlight hit his eyes in _just_ the right angle, and they were sparkling like amber gemstones. When he was reading, so absorbed in his own world and lost in the words, he just seemed to let go. The hopelessness and the hardness fell away, revealing that glow that lit him up from the inside out, the glow Roy remembered seeing in a vibrant, hyper teenager once upon a time.

Forgoing his previous flirt with leather, Ed had taken to wearing slacks and button-down shirts beneath vests, dressing mostly in shades of brown, black, white, and grey. When they and Riza had gone shopping for clothes after Ed had been released from the hospital, the young man had been withdrawn, not really caring what they bought, until they happened upon a brown leather waistcoat that he'd immediately been drawn to. That coat had lit up his face, and Roy had made a mental note to ask him about it later, but it never came up. It always astounded Roy how the blond could look so dashing in the clothes, a far cry from the black on black topped by an attention-drawing red jacket that had been so easy to find in a crowd. He looked older, more mature.

For some reason, that both drove Roy crazy and scared him a bit.


	5. An Arrangement of Convenience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nightmares torture Ed, and Roy is always there.

A bloodcurdling scream split the air as effectively as if a team of armed soldiers had kicked down the door. It wrenched Roy forcefully out of the oblivion of Morpheus' embrace and whatever dreams he'd been having disintegrated. His first thought was to go for his gloves; his second was that it was Ed screaming. Before his mind had time to fully process the situation, he was out of bed and barreling down the hall. He yanked open the door and stood in the doorway, staring at the scene before him. His heart was pounding against his ribs, and he realized that he should have realized before.

Ed had had a nightmare, a particularly bad one from the looks of it. His eyes were wide and the absolute terror in them cut straight to Roy's heart quicker and more painfully than any dagger could; tears fell down his face and onto his shirt, leaving dark spots on the fabric. He was sitting straight up in bed, chest heaving and hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

Roy crossed the room and, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulled the young man into his arms. Ed stiffened for a moment before giving in and melting into the embrace; he grabbed at Roy's shirt and cried into his neck. Roy didn't say a word, knowing that anything he could say would sound patronizing, so he simply rubbed circles between Ed's shuddering shoulder blades with one hand while his other rest against the back of the blond's head. He shifted all the way onto the bed, sitting with his back to the headboard and his legs stretching out in front of him, and a sobbing alchemist on his lap.

They remained that way for some time, until Ed's sobs dissolved into sniffles and the occasional twitch. Ed pulled back and Roy let him, and the general pretended not to notice Ed's flushed and tearstained face or how his shirt had been soaked through. He simply waited as Ed's rubbed furiously at his eyes, as if wiping away the evidence would change what happened. Ed shifted off Roy's lap, clearly embarrassed by what had happened, and somehow, Mustang knew that neither of them would be getting any sleep that night.

He rose from the bed and turned back around, and for a moment, his heart stuttered to a halt in his chest. Edward was kneeling on his bed, looking up at Roy, clothes rumpled, hair disheveled and sticking up in places, eyes glowing in the dark. The mussed look and wide eyes was almost erotic, and Roy swallowed, his sweatpants suddenly feeling a little tighter than he remembered.

He wished that he could give Ed something— _anything_ —to hold onto, because he looked like he'd lost faith in a world he felt had no room for him. Roy felt his insides twist. He'd always expected so much from Fullmetal, always thought he could handle whatever was thrown at him, because he'd done exactly what Ed had wanted him to do—Roy had treated him like an adult, unless he was trying to make him angry.

Roy offered Ed a hand and tried a smile. "Come on, I'll make us some tea and something to eat. I think we both need it," he said. Hesitantly, Ed took it, and Roy pulled him to his feet and, putting an arm around the younger man's shoulder, led him towards the kitchen. He hadn't been lying; they _did_ both need comfort food, for very different reasons—Ed needed it for its intended reason (comfort) whereas Roy needed it to take his mind off how mind-blowingly tempting Ed had looked.

Ed stepped out from Roy's arm and made his way into the kitchen. "I'll make the tea, you get the snack," he muttered.

Standing in the doorway, watching Ed go through the movements of making the tea, he realized that he'd never once done anything to show the blond how much he cared. Never once had he told Ed how proud he was to call him a comrade; never once had he told Ed how, every time he and Al had taken off on some crazy, potentially-fatal lead, he'd felt a little piece of him die at the thought of losing those boys. Never had Roy told him how relieved he'd been every time he heard that the Elric brothers had made it through relatively safe.

And now it was too late, because someone had shattered the golden angel and left behind a broken young man who was afraid to even go to sleep.

**XXXXXX**

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

They sat on the couch in his living room, drinking tea and picking at slices of chocolate cake in silence. Ed had finally stopped trembling after a few minutes of sitting in the dim light, and now he was simply staring into space aimlessly; his cake had been ignored, and his tea had gone cold in its cup. The old grandfather clock counted down the seconds to dawn, when Roy would have to go to work and leave Ed here alone with his demons. Each bonging tick resonated in the old house, reminding them just how alone they were. It was the still dark outside, still the wee hours of the morning when it could still be considered night, but soon enough, muted light would come filtering in through the curtains and they would have to face the world.

Roy wanted to ask Ed about what happened, but every time he tried to speak the words aloud, they stuck on his tongue. He knew that while talking about it might not make him feel better, knowing that he had a confidante and wasn't alone in this would probably do Ed good.

"Why are you doing this?"

Roy could have lied. He could have told Ed that he didn't want to risk losing his greatest asset; he could have said that he hoped that once Ed was recovered, he could be convinced to rejoin the State Military. He could have said that wanted to keep an eye on a potential flight risk; he could have said that he didn't want to have to deal with an angry Al later.

He could have lied, but he didn't. He set down his fork, looked Ed in the eyes with his one good one, and told him the truth.

"Because I care about you. You're not the same anymore. You look like you've got the world on your soldiers, even after you've accomplished the impossible over and over again. You're hurt and it's not just the cuts and bruises. After everything you've been through, you deserve better than a lonely hospital room. I care about you and I want to help you, but I can't if you won't let me in," he said. Under normal circumstances, his voice would have been soft, but in the silent old house, it bounced off the walls.

Ed snorted, shaking his head. "I'm not some sort of trophy for you anymore, Mustang. I'm not someone you have to make look good to make yourself look good. You're Fuhrer; I'm just a washed-up alchemist who's hit rock bottom. Leave it at that, huh?" He drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around the, resting his chin on his knees.

Roy gaped at him, hating the words coming out of Ed's mouth. He scooted closer to Ed, their nighttime snacks completely forgotten by now. "Is that what you thought, Ed? Don't you understand? It was never about trying to make myself look good. I looked out for you because you needed it. I wanted you to succeed." He shrugged. "Alright, maybe I didn't always go about it the right way, but I _promise_ you, I did it because I cared for you, for Al." He sounded worried, pleading with Ed to believe him.

He reached out and dropped his hand on Ed's metal one. He intertwined their fingers before Ed could pull away, and held the hand tightly. "I still do."

Ed sighed, and turned his head to look at Roy. His eyes were sad and lonely, dark with agony and cloudy with depression. He looked so…young, much less like the infamous alchemist prodigy and more like the young man that he was. This close, Roy noticed the bruises under his eyes and how bloodshot they were, and he realized that the reason Ed hadn't been having as many nightmares was because he hadn't been sleeping; he'd been faking. How long this had been going on, Roy didn't know, but knowing that Ed had managed this scared him; how could he have not noticed?

"You want to know what happened to me? Really?" Ed whispered, his voice tear-jerking. Roy nodded, not saying a word. They both needed this. They needed to clear the air so Ed could start healing.

So he listened as Ed told him a tale about making a deal with the devil to save his brother and falling through the Gate into a world much like their own, with lookalikes of people he'd known everywhere. Ed told Roy about living with Van Hohenheim, and then seeking out that world's version of Alphonse, a dying German rocket scientist named Alfons Heiderich, after his father disappeared. He told Roy about living and working with Hei, and though he didn't say as much, Roy could guess what else happened between them; he squashed the swell of jealousy. He told him about the long years he'd spent searching for a way home, and Roy listened.

"They came for me in the middle of the night, just kicked down the door and stormed my apartment, armed to the teeth. They bound and gagged me and blindfolded me, and they drugged me. Next thing I know, I'm half-naked in a cell in a concentration camp. They sent most people to work camps and stuff, but I guess I deserved a special little piece of hell. They were convinced I was in a cult, and they kept telling me I could go free if I turned in the person in charge. When I didn't have an answer they liked, they'd just beat me senseless with whatever was handy. I don't know if I was there for a few days or a few weeks; it all blended together. I could hear people outside the cell working, digging mass graves for the dead. I could smell the burning flesh, hear the screaming. Women, men, the elderly…children." His voice broke.

He ducked his head, trying to bury his face behind his knees. Roy pulled him into a warm hug and let Ed lean against him. "I'm so sorry, Ed," Roy murmured into Ed's ear, trying to chase away the horrors he could only imagine. "I'm so, so sorry. I should have been there to protect you."

Ed shut his eyes, curling in on himself. "Don't be. This is my fault; I got us into this whole mess. If anyone should feel guilty, it's me. I left Al alone for five years and now that I'm home, I can't even help him. Not that he needs me."

A large tear rolled down one cheek, and Roy forced himself not to wipe it away. As much as he might hate it, this was a part of Edward he knew, the part that blamed himself for everything. While it had worked before, he doubted telling the younger alchemist to suck it up and move on would help.

"Of course he needs you, Ed," Roy said. "You're his big brother. Just because he can take care of himself doesn't mean he loves you less and doesn't want you around. Besides,—" he couldn't believe he was going to say this— "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

He took a chance and dropped a kiss on the top of Ed's head, and instantly regretted it; Ed stiffened in his arms, and when Ed twisted around to look at him, his expression was unreadable. Worry and anxiety shook Roy; what if he'd just ruined everything? Now Ed would pull out of his arms and close in on himself again, and that was just the best case scenario; worst case was he packed his bags and vanished into thin air again, poor health be damned. Ed was a gorgeous young man and he could easily have any beautiful woman he wanted on his arm, so why would he bother with an old, half-blind alchemist who'd taunted and tormented him?

So Roy was understandable shaken when Ed smiled and cuddled in closer, intertwining his good hand with Roy's. Roy grinned into the soft mop of hair and held the blond close, thinking to himself that after this whole awful mess had been solved and things returned to semi-normalcy, maybe they would have a chance to work this out.

"You can trust me, you know?"

There was a pregnant pause before Ed answered. "I know."

The words were choked and whispered, barely audible, and it made Roy's chest tighten. He was determined to make Ed see that he was worth trusting, that his intentions were noble and he really did just want to help. Lacking anything else to offer, Roy held him in a warm hug and hoped that knowing he was there was enough to keep Ed grounded.

They stayed that way in silence, with Ed curled up against Roy's chest and hands entwined, until finally the blond drifted into sweet sleep. Roy watched him sleep, taking comfort in how Ed looked more peaceful now, as if having someone to tell his miseries to had finally lifted part of his burden off his shoulders. As the night waned and the sky was streaked with soft pinks and brilliant oranges as dawn arrived, bringing a new day with it, Roy let himself believe that this arrangement they had wasn't only one of convenience.


	6. Rough Patches and Bad Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy returns to work and leaves Ed alone, and comes home to find the boy in serious trouble.

Roy handled the day about as well as could be expected. He spent most of the morning ignoring the growing stack of paperwork on his desk, though eventually Riza threatened him into it. He stared at the phone for a while as he ate lunch at his desk, debating whether he should call Ed and listening to Breda and Havoc argue about who had more of a chance with the new secretary downstairs.

He wondered if he should shatter their pathetic dreams by telling them that she was a lesbian, but then decided that it would be just that more entertaining when they found out for themselves.

He couldn't focus on his work. The minutes stretched into eternity, and as the day dragged on, the Flame Alchemist was seriously considering calling it quits. It had been with a heavy heart and a guilty conscience that he'd left Ed curled up on the couch that morning when a soldier had arrived with the car. He'd left a note lying on the coffee table in clear view, next to a sandwich he suspected would be thrown out but hoped otherwise and a cup of tea. He'd have rather stayed home, but he did have a country to run and it wasn't going to do it without him.

He ended up calling it a day after lunch, finding himself unable to focus on anything except the ticking of his clock. It echoed in his head, bouncing around between his ears until it drowned out all thoughts and made concentrating impossible. He made small talk with Hawkeye as she drove him home, speaking mostly of pointless things. Things had been shaky between the general and his most trusted subordinate for a while, since a new years' party where they both had a few glasses of wine too many and the dam holding back all their pent up frustrations, anger, and need broke. While it had been one of his less awkward "morning afters", things hadn't been the same between them.

She did ask briefly of Ed's welfare, to which he answered honestly. He told Riza that, physically, Ed was recovering well, but his mental health was a different story. He told her that he was worried that Ed was getting worse; worried from a strictly professional point of view, of course.

He tried to ignore the knowing look she gave him in the mirror, and he tried to ignore the voice in his head whispering all the things he didn't want to admit.

When Riza dropped him off at the curb, he stood at the gate and watched as the car pulled away before turning and walking briskly up the walkway to the door. He was sliding his key into the lock when his soldier's sense clicked in and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Something was very, very wrong.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, calling out as he closed and locked the door behind him. "Edward!" There was no response, and he quickened his pace, glancing through each room as he passed. Scenarios ran through his head: maybe Ed was just asleep, maybe he was absorbed in a book, maybe he'd fallen and hurt himself, maybe he'd gone back into a coma, maybe he'd fallen asleep in while taking a bath and drowned, maybe…maybe…maybe… He felt panic well up in him. He glanced inside the kitchen and his heart stopped in his chest.

Ed was crumpled on the tile, facedown and oh-so-still. The plate of food that Roy had left out for him was scattered; Ed must have dropped it when he collapsed. Roy crossed the room and dropped to his knees next to the fallen alchemist. He dug his fingers into Ed's neck, holding his breath as he searched frantically for a pulse. _Nothing…nothing…oh, God, nothing…thud._ His heart restarted and he let out his breath as he felt it against his fingers. Ed's pulse was shaky, but strong, and Roy let himself relax, though he made a mental note to chew Ed out for self-endangerment later. He was no doctor, but even he knew that working yourself until you literally dropped from exhaustion was unhealthy. For now…

He picked Ed up, bridal style, and carried him back to the bedrooms; he was unpleasantly surprised by how light Ed was in his arms, and how he could feel the blond's ribs under his fingers. Ed moaned in his sleep and his expression scrunched, and he nuzzled in closer to Roy, pressed his face into the blue jacket.

Guilt racked through him as he nudged open his bedroom door; he should have stayed. He shouldn't have left Ed alone that morning. He'd known that Ed would be in a fragile state and he'd left anyway. He hadn't even woken him up to tell him he was going, and now in hindsight, he realized that Ed had probably been faking it even then. He hadn't slept in days—maybe a week, if he'd literally fallen asleep on his feet. Roy should have noticed sooner, should have finagled the younger man into getting rest; he was responsible for Ed, if not legally any longer than emotionally.

Ed stirred as Roy set him down on the large bed, moaning as he lost the body heat. "Mustang?" he mumbled, hand grasping weakly at Roy's jacket. Roy shook his head and tutted. "Oh, Ed," he sighed, pulling the bedding up over Ed. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked blond hair until Ed was once again lulled to sleep.

"How could you do this to yourself? You should have told me."

**XXXXXX**

The first thing Ed realized when he drifted back into consciousness was that his head was pounding like a jackhammer on speed. The second was that he was warm and oddly comfortable, and this definitely wasn't the guest bed. The third was that for the first time in over a week, he wasn't exhausted, which meant…he'd slept, but he hadn't had any nightmares. Whatever dreams he'd had, he didn't remember them, but he knew they hadn't been the heart-stopped, terrifying dreams he was scared of.

He lay there for a while before he dared open his eyes. He could feel sunlight against his face, warm and somehow comforting; he could hear the faint _tick-tick-tick_ of a clock somewhere in the room. He could feel the sheets against his skin, soft and smooth and inviting, and all he wanted was to snuggle back into the heap of pillows and sleep for a hundred years.

That begged the question: where was he? The last thing he remembered was taking the food Roy had left out into the kitchen; he'd let it get cold and the bread had gone stale, so he'd been going to make a new one.

_Ed set down his book as his stomach grumbled, this time more insistently than before. Unbidden, his eyes drifted to the wood and glass coffee table, and the plate of food on it. The sandwich had gone stale hours ago, just as the tea had gone lukewarm, and he would have eaten earlier, but his stomach had twisted painfully at the thought of food. That had been happening less lately, as he became accustomed to eating regularly again, but there were still times when his stomach rebelled at the mere thought of food; on a few occasions, when he'd forced himself to eat anyway, he'd had to sprint across the house to throw it up violently, his whole body shaking with the heaves._

_He sighed and stood up, stretching best he could. He balanced the cup on tea precariously on the sandwich, and started for the kitchen. He missed having both arms, and he'd be glad to suffer the pain of a completely new automail arm and port if he could just have the freedom and convenience of two arms._

_He was halfway across the kitchen when it happened, sweeping over him so quickly he barely had time to comprehend it. He'd been feeling light headed for a few days, but now…the world began to spin around him, and as he tried to get a hold of what was going on, a rush of sound roared through him as he felt his human leg buckle. He couldn't even tell if he was falling or not, everything was so fuzzy, and he faintly heard the sound of the plate and cup shattering on the tile floor. His body hit the ground hard, and had he not been so dizzy and on the verge of passing out, he would have screamed. His head connected last with a sickening crack and an explosion of pain, and the world went dark._

No wonder his head hurt like no one's business; he'd banged it against the floor when he'd passed out. He vaguely remembered having a dream about Roy carrying him and talking to him, though now he wasn't so sure it was a dream.

Ed squeezed his eyes tight before opening them. Dim light came through the window of the room, and he suspected that it was early morning; that meant he'd been out almost a full day. The light stung his eyes and he blinked away the tears. He managed to push himself into a sitting position and looked around, his mind still foggy and muddled with sleep.

Most of the room looked the same as the guest room he was using, with subtle differences—it was a bit larger, the color scheme was different, the desk was spick-and-span instead of cluttered, everything looked like it had a fine layer of dust over it. Like the rest of the house when Ed had first arrived, it didn't look lived in; chairs pushed into the table, dishes stacked neatly in otherwise empty cabinets. It reminded him of a model home, pristine and beautiful, and nothing at all like someone would live in it. The bed he was in was certainly big enough for two people, made up in red and black—Ed was guessing silk sheets and a cotton comforter—with a small mountain of pillows that Ed had burrowed himself in to; the other side of the bed was still warm, which meant that his bedmate had taken his leave not too long ago. It was also far more comfortable that the one he'd been sleeping in.

He was in Roy's bedroom.

Yawning, he somehow managed to extract himself from the tangled mess he'd made. He'd guesstimated that it was early morning; he confirmed this by glancing at the clock on the wall: **7:45.** It had been approximately ten in the morning when he'd passed out; he'd slept through the entire day. That brought up the question as to when Roy had moved him. He hadn't been on the kitchen floor all day, else he'd be a lot more sore and cramped. When had Roy returned home from work?

Roy had been so good to him, perhaps better than he deserved, and the Flame Alchemist had never judged him (at least not to his face or where he could hear). He'd helped Ed when he needed it, but had mostly left him to his own devices, and Ed was grateful. Yesterday morning, when Roy'd had to go to work, Ed had still been faking sleep; he hadn't wanted Roy to worry about him anymore than he already did. He'd laid there on the couch and listened as Roy went through his morning routine, and Ed had found that he had to physically keep himself from reacting when Roy brushed a kiss against his forehead before leaving.

Ed took a quick shower, something else which would be much easier when he had both arms, and changed into clean clothes before padding into the kitchen. It was Tuesday, and Roy should have been at work already, but instead the dark-haired man was sitting at the table, working his way through a cup of coffee and a piece of toast. Roy looked up as Ed shuffled in, and smirked.

"Whaddya know, it lives," he sniped, and Ed was glad for the jab. After the talk they'd had, after he'd had told Roy everything, Ed hadn't been sure how to act. He didn't want Roy's pity and logically, he'd known Roy might empathize, but he would never _pity_ him; however, despite knowing this, he realized he hadn't really been sure until now. The mocking tone notwithstanding, he found only relief and warmth in the single dark eye.

He nodded without saying anything and went about the kitchen making his breakfast. It wasn't until ten minutes later when he was halfway through a bowl of cereal that he muttered, "What happened yesterday?"

Roy snorted, and Ed glanced up to find Roy peering at him over his coffee cup, expression caught somewhere between annoyed and thankful.

"What happened," he explained, "was you literally passed out from exhaustion, Edward. I came home and found you collapsed on the ground. I thought you were dead."

Ed winced as guilt crashed over him. The look in Roy's eye had hardened into one of pain and betrayal; Ed had never wanted to hurt him. He just had wanted to escape the nightmares, that hell that was always waiting for him, just under the surface.

"I—I'm sorry," he stuttered, his heart heavy. "I never meant—I mean, I didn't want—" His voice broke and he knew he must look pathetic. He looked across the table at Roy, trying to convey how he felt; this was a whole new territory, and he had no idea how to put it into words. "I just…I couldn't take it anymore."

He pushed his food away, his appetite spoiled. How could he tell Roy that he was terrified of falling asleep, even for a moment, because he knew that his dreams would be filled with the demons he couldn't escape—because he could still feel their fists against his skin, still feel the cold of the cell seeping into his bones and making his shoulder ache, still hear their taunts and curses.

He heard the chair scrape against the floor as Roy stood up, and he didn't lift his head, instead watching socked feet walk past him, and he listened as Roy turned on the water and rinsed his plate and cup. The silence from Mustang's end drove needles into Ed's heart; he didn't dare look up and face the judgment that was sure to be written all over Roy's face.

Finally, Roy broke it. "How long?"

There was no judgment in his voice, and Ed found he couldn't lie. "Over a week."

Roy snorted didn't ask why—he didn't need to, he already knew. He didn't ask anything, in fact.

"It's not healthy, and it's not helping. I'd rather you have come to me for help, but that can't be changed."

Here it came; Ed braced himself for the scolding. He deserved it, after everything he'd put Roy through. The man was the Fuhrer; he had better things to do than worry about a broken alchemist beyond saving. Ed was a burden that Roy felt he had to bear, and Ed knew that eventually Roy would tire of trying to salvage the shattered pieces.

He felt more than heard Roy come up behind him, and he closed his eyes, expected a swift and solid whack to the back of his head for his mistakes. So he was understandably startled when he felt a hand ruffle his hair almost fondly. He winced out of habit, feeling guilty immediately afterwards; he'd known Roy since he was twelve, he trusted him. Roy wouldn't hurt him; he'd followed him all the way to Resembool just so he could help him, and now he was putting up with him.

"You have to start taking better care of yourself, Ed. It'd be a shame to finally get you back just to have to deal with funeral arrangements." The voice was half taunting, half concerned, and Ed wasn't sure which he was more grateful for. If Roy had started teasing him again, that meant that things between them were settling down.

Ed snorted, trying to ignore how good Roy's hand felt and trying desperately not to let Mustang know. The fingers carding through his hair, massaging his scalp, was calming, and it scared Ed how natural it felt, how it all felt. Sharing a house with Hei had been awkward at first until they'd established rules and routines, but this was different. He and Roy just…fit in a way he and Alfons never had. Ed didn't understand it, and he suspected he never would, but for now, it was enough.

"Who said I'd want you planning my funeral anyway?" he shot back, but the effect was ruined by a pathetically needy whine that escaped when Roy pulled his hand back. He flushed and scowled when Roy chuckled, hating the way his pulse quickened and his breathing hitched when Roy's fingers brushed against his spine. _This can't be happening._


	7. Walking Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the bandages come off and Roy comes out.

Ed's bandages came off for good a week later, and as the nurse worked at removing them, Ed found himself caught between relief and terror. Bandages so thick it felt like he was being suffocated had become so commonplace that he couldn't remember being without them. On some level, he'd known they wouldn't be there forever, but still, it had come as a surprise when the nurse had told him she was leaving them off this time; his shoulder was healed enough to start considering automail again.

That brought a whole new wave of worries, starting with seeing Winry again and facing her wrath. It meant he would have to face her and explain why he'd vanished for five long years, have to face seeing Alphonse after abandoning him, have to deal with the excruciating pain of getting brand new automail. The recovery would be hell, and Roy wouldn't be there to help him this time.

"Do you want me to go?" Roy's voice was soft, but it sliced through the silence sharp as any blade, and Ed had no choice but to acknowledge it.

He immediately discarded the idea; Roy had seen the worst of the damage, and even if he hadn't, he'd stuck by through everything else over the last two months. Ed shook his head and Roy stayed, standing off to the side to give the nurse room to work.

The bandages wrapping around his chest and shoulder had been replaced time and time again, but Ed had never taken a good look at the damage; he'd been scared to. He had his fair share of scars, and he could remember the story behind every one, but somehow, these frightened him more than the rest. Ed watched her nimbly pick the tape loose and something nervous and painful twisted in his stomach. Before, the small glimpses he'd caught had been "healing," but now…whatever remained would stay with him the rest of his life, the story of his hell written all over his body forever.

Layer after layer gone, and soon, she was on the last and he didn't want to look any longer. Before it was too late, he tipped his head up to watch Roy, desperate for relief, and waited for it to be over. As the last of the bandages were removed, he searched the general's face for any change; whatever he'd been expecting, he didn't find. Roy's face was totally unreadable, blank and free from horror or pity. Ed watched his eye moved downwards, taking it in, and if Ed hadn't known him, he would have thought it was simply callous.

Taking a deep breath to steady and brace himself, he looked down. Bile rose in his throat; blood pounding in his ears. He barely noticed when the nurse decided they needed time and took her leave. He couldn't help the strangled gasp that managed to escape chapped lips.

Scars crisscrossed his body in random patterns that reminded him of flannel, the way it rippled and caught in places. The parts of his chest and torso that hadn't been damaged, pale streaks of skin that were few and far between, just visible enough to stand out starkly. The wound in his side was puckered and shiny, knotted scar tissue that he hoped would eventually fade into a strip of white; he'd been lucky that he'd avoided infection.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. It was worse than he'd imagined. He was fairly sure he was going to be sick. He looked away before his breakfast made a reappearance. It wasn't the damage that got him—he was alive and that counted for a great deal—but the fact that he should have been strong enough to prevent it in the first place. He was the Fullmetal Alchemist— _was_ being the operative word in that sentence. Even without his alchemy, though, he'd still been a decent fighter. And that still hadn't been enough.

**XXXXXX**

Roy watched Ed's face change from worried to horrified, and once again, Roy felt the overwhelming guilt that he hadn't been able to stop it. All his training, all his accomplishments, all his power…and yet he hadn't managed to save the one person that meant the most to him. He'd let Ed down in the worst way, and now he couldn't do a damn thing to change it. What he wouldn't give to…no. He stopped that line of thought before it could finish. He knew where it led and he'd only just gotten back the one person he knew who'd followed it to the end.

Ed didn't acknowledge him when he moved to stand in front of him, too absorbed in grief. Roy put his hand on Ed's knee, and the blond tilted his head up to look at him. Roy schooled his expression into one of mild concern, trying not to show Ed how pained he was; Ed looked away quickly, indicating he wasn't successful. Thick, shaggy bangs fell over his face, shielding it, but the brief glance he'd gotten twisted his heart; the dismal, anguished, lost look that was as broken as he felt.

"I look like some kind of monster," Ed muttered, bitter and angry. Roy said nothing at first, moving close enough to destroy any semblance of personal space. He knew exactly how Ed was feeling; he'd gone through the same thing after he'd lost his eye. Knowing that Ed was watching him through his hair, Roy scanned him up and down and clicked his tongue. Honestly, it wasn't that bad; he'd seen injuries that were more cringe-worthy, but he knew that whatever Ed saw was ten times worse.

"Ed." The name was soft and lilting. He reached out tentatively, carefully drawing gloved fingers up Ed's chest to cup his face, a subtle reminder that Ed wasn't the only one who'd been damaged. He lifted Ed's face to reveal haunted golden eyes, and smiled softly, and he told him the truth. "All I see is you."

Ed might have responded, but then Roy decided to take a chance and hope Ed didn't knee him in the crotch. He pressed their lips together, soft, sweet, and chaste, and pulled away after a few seconds to gauge Ed's reaction. Ed blinked once, twice, three times in shock, his mouth ganging open and cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and he looked all the world like a fish gasping for water, and Roy couldn't help thinking that it was simply adorable.

Roy realized that he just gambled and lost; Ed didn't feel the same way. Roy had hoped that with the way they'd been getting along, that perhaps there was the potential for something more, but he'd been so foolish as to let his emotions get away from him. Of course Ed didn't want him; there was no reason he should, and every reason not to—the substantial age difference, the gender taboo, the political dilemmas, and their complicated military history together. Hell, after Ed had been certified as the Fullmetal Alchemist, Roy had been assigned as his legal guardian to keep things internal.

He felt ill from nervousness. He was the Fuhrer, for alchemy's sake, and he shouldn't have been acting like some prepubescent little girl. What was he supposed to do now? True, he had some experience from previous conquests, but he was hardly the grand debauchee people thought. And Edward Elric was hardly some giggly, flighty woman he picked up at a bar or party.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Ed grabbed Roy's collar with his good hand and pulled him roughly into another kiss. Roy grinned against Ed's mouth and wound an arm gently around the blond's waist, careful of tender ribs as he pulled him close. He gave Ed an open-mouthed kiss and was rewarded with full acceptance and more, a human hand burying itself in Roy's raven hair. The Flame Alchemist tilted his head to get better access, and their tongues mingled and played in a brief battle for dominance—Roy won, and kissed him with five years of mourning and weeks of worry and distress. Hopefully, there would be more to come.

Finally, they had to pull apart for air, breathing hard. Suddenly realizing how this would look if someone came in—which could happen at any time—Roy backed off, retreating to a safe distance. Ed was panting, eyes flashing with nervousness and something else, and finally, he smirked.

"It's about damn time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I posted this on ff.net, someone brought up some questions: "This has one heck of an opening hook, and it's beautifully written, but there are a lot of questions left unanswered. Such as, how long can they stall before Alphonse is going to get seriously ticked that nobody bothered to tell him his brother is back? How did Ed ever overcome Alfons's resemblance to Alphonse? How is Roy wandering around Central without Secret Service tailing him at all times, and why isn't his scheduler demanding he account for all of his recent time off given the nature of his duties? You've got more story to tell here."
> 
> I'm going to do a bit of explaining.
> 
> *Winry's shop is in Central now, but right now she's visiting Resembool with Al, which is why Ed's been able to stay secret for this long  
> *I don't think Ed really did get over the resemblance between Alphonse and Alfons, which is why he could love him, but never be IN LOVE with him  
> *My theory about the "Secret Service" is that they ARE tailing Roy and watching his house, but they keep out of sight, so I don't have to write them  
> *And Roy IS actually doing his work, kinda. I just didn't write it in
> 
> As for Ed and Al's reunion, check out the sequel! Thanks for reading.


End file.
